


Butterflies and Hurricanes

by Mystical_Artist



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Spoilers for The Crossing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Artist/pseuds/Mystical_Artist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Finch, what are you doing here?” Reese asked in surprise, firing off another round from his gun.</p><p>“I wanted to warn you that this was a trap,” Harold explained loudly over the gunfire, “but I see that I’m too la-“</p><p>The billionaire stopped as a bullet hit him directly in the chest and he went toppling over onto his back, his eyes wide in surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies and Hurricanes

**Author's Note:**

> This contains spoilers for The Crossing with mentions of the major character death that took place. You've been warned!  
> Also, the title is taken from a Muse song, which I don't own. I also don't own any of these characters.
> 
> Another note, this takes place about a month after The Crossing.

 

Harold limped as quickly as possible up to the large warehouse where Reese was currently meeting with their latest number. They had both thought the young man had been a victim of horrible circumstances, and it wasn’t until Reese and Shaw had gone to meet with him that Finch realized it was a trap.

The man was a mass murderer from the Russian Mob who had covered his tracks a little too well, causing Harold to jump to the wrong conclusion a little too quickly. Finch had assumed the man was a victim simply because he looked like an innocent young man. He reminded him of a picture of Reese he’d stumbled upon when John’s number had come up…. 

 

He’d really messed up this time.  
  


He’d gotten sloppy, which was baffling and frustrating, especially now that two more lives were in jeopardy because of it. Reese and Shaw hadn’t answered any of his frantic calls, so Finch did the only logical thing.

 

He hightailed it to the rendezvous point to warn them.  
  


He hurried through the door and was met with the cacophony of gunfire.  
  


“Finch, what are you doing here?” Reese asked in surprise, firing off another round from his gun.  
  
“I wanted to warn you that this was a trap,” Harold explained loudly over the gunfire, “but I see that I’m too la-“  
  
The billionaire stopped as a bullet hit him directly in the chest and he went toppling over onto his back, his eyes wide in surprise.  
  
He absently noted John calling his name again and again, his voice strained with fear. Shaw said something that sounded suspiciously like “crazy bastard”, but he wasn’t sure over the rushing sound filling his ears.  
  
  
Reese began frantically patting him down and Harold heard him exhale loudly as he encountered the bulletproof vest he was wearing.

John let out a groan of relief and dropped his head down onto the billionaire’s chest, his hands gripping Finch’s wrists as though his life depended on it.  
  


After losing Carter the way they had, Finch couldn’t really blame him for his reaction.

 

“Goddamnit, Reese! Get him out of here before you both get killed,” Shaw called as she shot another attacker.  
  


Finch dully noted that she was definitely _not_ aiming for the kneecaps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much.  
  


His chest _hurt_ , and he couldn’t imagine how Reese acted like getting shot was no big deal, especially when there were no vests involved. He didn’t think anything was broken or too damaged, but the books he had read beforehand on how the vests worked certainly hadn’t prepared him as well as he’d expected.  
  


He made a mental note to buy more ice packs as John tenderly lifted him up into a standing position and helped him out to the car.  
  


“Mr. Reese, we should…Miss Shaw-“ His voice didn’t seem to be cooperating, so he helplessly gestured behind them to where Shaw was wrestling an opponent to the ground with her fists flying.  
  


He took a moment to wonder if the phrase “beating the shit out of someone” was accurate here as John led them to safety.  
  


How odd, he didn’t normally think vulgar language like that.  
  


He chalked it up to his current adrenaline rush and filed the thought away for now.  
  


Reese opened the passenger door and eased Harold down in the seat. “She’ll be fine. Remember, this is fun for her.” He closed the door and jogged to the driver’s side. “Where’s Bear?” he asked, apparently just noticing the canine’s absence as he started the car.

“He’s safe. I asked Detective Fusco to watch him. I thought the company would help…”  
  


Reese’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he said nothing.  
  


Finch closed his eyes and dozed for the remainder of the ride, trying not to think about his brush with death or the recent string of deaths surrounding him. 

 

 

He woke to John’s hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to see they were at neither the library nor Reese’s loft. John had taken him to a rarely used safe house that no one knew about except for them; not even Bear had been to this one before.

As they walked in, Reese kept his arm firmly around Harold’s shoulders, as though he was afraid the older man would vanish without his touch.  
  


It felt…nice, Harold had to admit.  
  


He wondered if he was still sleeping and having a pleasant dream of Reese protecting him, but quickly dismissed the idea. He reasoned that his chest wouldn’t hurt in a dream, not like this anyway.  
  


Besides, his dreams involving Reese were usually of a…different matter.  
  


Finch gave his head a small shake: this was not the time for such thoughts.  
  


Reese took their coats and hung them up as they entered the house, and Finch wearily went to sit down on the sofa, where he attempted to unbutton his shirt to get to the vest.   
  


His hands shook too much though, and Reese expertly took over after kneeling in front of him.  
  


The other man had the vest off in no time, and Harold saw the fear in John’s eyes at having almost lost another comrade. He also noticed how John’s hands weren’t quite as steady as they had originally seemed.  
  


He couldn’t remember ever seeing Reese’s hands shake.  
  


He suspected that John was remembering his own time with a bomb vest and how close of a call it had been to ending both of them.

He placed a hand on John’s cheek and Reese leaned in to the touch before pulling Finch back up to stand in front of him.

“You’d better rest. You look ready to pass out,” John rasped.

Finch gave a weary nod and headed to the bedroom. 

  
  
  


_Harold raced to the building where John and Shaw were, breaking almost every traffic rule in order to make it in time._

_There were no other vehicles on the road, only him and his desperate thoughts of saving John._

_Bursting in to the complex, he saw Reese dodge a bullet as he shot the man in the leg._

_Shaw was about ten feet away, firing her own gun in a mechanical manner, never flinching even when she was grazed by a bullet._

_“Finch, what are you doing here?” Reese asked, turning to face him._

_Harold opened his mouth to reply, but the bullet racing towards him stopped his words from coming through._

_He landed on the ground and looked at his chest._

_The blood quickly pooled through his shirt and Reese was suddenly over him trying to stop the blood with his hands._

_His body gave a small jerk as the blood continued to pour out of him and through John’s fingers._

_“Goodbye, Harold,” the taller man choked out, slowly removing his hands from the wound as he realized he couldn’t stop the blood. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you or Joss.”_

_Finch watched in horror as Reese took his gun and raised it to his own head._

__  
  


Harold woke with a start, his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he sucked in deep breaths.

“Finch? What’s wrong? Are you sick, in pain…?” Reese asked, placing a hand on Harold’s shoulder.  
  


The billionaire lifted a shaky hand to his mouth.  
  


“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” Reese murmured, helping Finch stand up and leading him to the toilet where he dropped to his knees.  
  


The older man threw up the contents of his stomach with violent heaves as Reese stood guard.  
  


Finch laid his head on his arms, which were resting on the toilet seat. “Take the night off, Mr. Reese. You don’t need to see this.”  
  


God, he felt terrible.  
  


The taller man shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

Harold stood up with a groan and flushed his sickness before rinsing out his mouth with spearmint mouthwash. He looked in the mirror at his overly pale face and sighed.  
  


What a mess he was.  
  


“Let’s get you back to bed,” Reese said soothingly.

“I honestly don’t think I can sleep now. I keep seeing the gun and…” he trailed off, not wanting to admit the rest of the dream and how Reese had been ready to kill himself.  
  


The other man had just started shaving again and the last thing Finch wanted was for him to revert to his recent detached behavior.  
  


He wasn’t overly fond of John with a beard anyway.  
  


John placed a hand on Finch’s lower back in understanding. “I know. You’re not used to this sort of thing.”  
  


Reese shouldn’t be used to it either, not really. Harold wondered if he could convince the other man to let Shaw take care of the dangerous work instead.  
  


Not likely.  
  


Maybe he’d have Reese start wearing a full body suit of armor from now on…

He could just picture the other man, regal and handsome in shining armor. He stifled a hysterical giggle and turned to his partner.

Even bone-tired with rumpled clothing Reese still looked ethereal.  
  


Finch stared at him in wonder, trying to avert his thoughts to something else. “I don’t see how you do this all the time. You brush it off like it’s nothing.”

Reese led him back to the bed and sat him down. “You don’t want to ‘brush it off’, Finch. It’s not healthy,” he replied, shaking his head.

Harold touched the large bruise on his chest and lay back against the pillows regarding Reese with a frown. “You need to sleep at some point, you know.” He could see the dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

John raised his eyebrows. “I’ll sleep eventually.”

Finch shook his head as much as he was able to. “Unacceptable, Mr. Reese,” he said, pulling on the other man’s arm until he was snug up against Harold’s side on the bed.  
  


He was just so tired…  
  


“Finch…” John said in warning.

The billionaire glared at him. “I’m perfectly aware of what I am doing. Now, we both need to sleep and I forbid you from sleeping in that awful chair,” he responded prissily, gesturing to the straight back kitchen chair the other man had been inhabiting for the past six hours.

The taller man shrugged, “Okay,” and rested his head on the pillow. He moved his hand over and placed it on Harold’s chest, as though he could heal the injury with touch alone.

 

 

 

When Harold awoke the next morning, Reese was no longer next to him and he had the bedroom to himself.

He cleaned up in the bathroom and saw with detached interest that the bruise was dark purple. For some reason, he had imagined the bruise would be an angry red mark.

He wearily trudged to the kitchen and reached up in one of the cabinets to retrieve his tea leaves.  
  


His hands were still shaking, Finch observed with annoyance.  
  


“Allow me,” Reese murmured, placing his hand over Finch’s as he went to prepare the tea.

They stood in silence as the water boiled, and it wasn’t until Reese handed him the steaming mug that words were spoken.  
  


“Why where you there?” Reese asked, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee.

Finch took a drink. “I told you, I needed to tell you it was a trap.”

Reese pushed off the counter after setting the coffee down and took a small step towards him. “So, call me.”

“I did! You didn’t answer. Neither did Miss Shaw, actually,” Harold replied defensively.

The taller man took another step, larger this time. “You shouldn’t have been there. What if you had been…” he closed his eyes, unable to finish.  
  


Finch knew he was picturing Carter’s lifeless body with her own bullet to the chest.  
  


“I know, but I couldn’t sit here and do nothing. Maybe now you’ll understand how I feel sending you into situations that you may not walk away from,” Finch stated quietly, setting his tea on the kitchen island.

John opened his eyes and walked forward until he was in Harold’s personal space. “I don’t know how you handle it,” he rasped, placing his hands on Finch’s forearms. “I thought I’d lost you,” he choked out.

“I know, John.”

Reese shook his head. “We’ve already lost Joss. I’m barely coping with that,” he said with an ironic grin as Finch eyed John’s jaw, which was supporting more stubble than usual. “I’m not living in this world without you, too.”  
  


Harold embraced him, realizing that John needed the reassurance that they were both still alive. He reached up and ran his fingers through Reese’s hair, attempting to comfort him.  
  


“Don’t do that to me again,” Reese whispered, pulling back.

“I told you we’d both end up dead at some point. It’s inevitable, John. The loss of Detective Carter has only proved that fact.” Finch sighed and continued, “We may not die at the same time, but I feel the moment for both of us is near.”

The taller man closed his eyes. “I go first.”

“As morbid as it sounds,” Finch said, resting a hand on John’s cheek, “I’d like to ‘go out’ together.”

Reese kissed the wrist of the hand on his cheek, smirking at Harold’s look of shock. “Hmm, don’t let Shaw hear you say that. She’ll lock us up in the mental institution.”

“Speaking of her, we should let her know we made it safely,” Finch said, reaching for his phone to turn it back on, slightly flabbergasted at the sudden change of mood.

John grabbed it and tossed it over his shoulder where it landed with a thud.  
  


The billionaire was mildly shocked to see Reese, for all intents and purposes, flirting with him again. He had to admit, he’d missed this side of John.

He didn’t miss it enough to hide his annoyance to having to buy yet another phone as he heard the distinct crunch of it breaking, though.  
  


“It can wait,” John said with a small grin. “I doubt she really cares that much, anyway.”

Finch raised an eyebrow. “You realize she’ll still track us, yes?”

Reese shrugged, “Well, she’ll be in for a surprise.”

Harold furrowed his eyebrows. “What surprise?”

“This,” John replied, leaning in for a kiss.

“Oh,” Harold adjusted his glasses, “She already thinks we’re involved. Why, just yesterday she-“

“Finch, stop talking,” Reese said, kissing him again.

“Wait,” he said, leaning back. “This isn’t some attempt to forget what happened to Joss, is it? Because I’d rather not, if that’s the case.”

John gave him an exasperated look. “Harold, if I wanted to forget what happened to her, I’d go back to drinking whiskey. That’s not what this is.”

“Oh. Well, do continue, then,” Finch said, leaning back in.  
  


He wasn’t sure how healthy this was in the long run, but for now he decided not to fight it.

John was making him feel better already.  
  
  


“What. The. Fuck.”

Finch quickly pulled away from John and felt his face flush as Shaw stood before him, obviously annoyed.  
  


Or maybe she was pleased, it was impossible to tell with her.  
  


“I thought you said the two of you weren’t together, _Harold,_ ” she said in contempt.  
  


The billionaire simply stared at her.  
  


“Well, we weren’t when you asked that, Shaw,” Reese replied for him, clearly aggravated at the interruption.

The small woman looked between them with disinterest. “Whatever. I don’t care what you do. Maybe I’ll go pay Lionel a visit. At least he isn’t all love-dovey and gross.” 

“Oh yes, you might as well relieve him of Bear if that’s where you are headed,” Finch said, adjusting his glasses.  
  


Shaw continued to stand there, simply looking at them.  
  


Finch shifted uncomfortably in response.  
  


“Well, there’s the door, Shaw. Use it,” John said, gesturing impatiently towards the exit.

Shaw snorted. “Man, you two have it bad, don’t you?” She shook her head and walked towards the door. “This better not make you sloppy in the field, Reese.”  
  


She slammed the door as she left.  
  


“Will this make you sloppy, Mr. Reese?” Finch asked. He’d been too distracted to think of that.  
  


He really _was_ getting careless. They couldn’t afford for Reese to get that way, too.  
  


“No, it won’t,” John replied, slightly amused.

“Glad to hear it. Now, where were we…” Finch gave a small smile and pulled Reese back down by placing his hand on the back of his neck.  
  


The wounds were still there, they always would be.  
  


Finch was just glad they were slowly scabbing over. 

**Author's Note:**

> I made some modifications to this to account for Carter's death, and I hope this isn't disrespectful in any way. I liked her character too, so I hope the ending isn't too....lighthearted?


End file.
